


Birthday Cards and other Little Gifts

by love2imagine



Category: White Collar
Genre: Neal - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 23:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3746791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love2imagine/pseuds/love2imagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Read a cute little story called:</p><p>THE ONE WERE PETER RECEIVES HIS FIRST BIRTHDAY CARD FROM NEAL ...and wondered what the last thing Peter had received from Neal was...the last card, or origami. Actually, it morphed into something else, but thank you, Pica, for the inspiration! Some AU bits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Cards and other Little Gifts

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [THE ONE WERE PETER RECEIVES HIS FIRST BIRTHDAY CARD FROM NEAL](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477269) by [pipa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipa/pseuds/pipa). 



 

 

Peter walked up the stairs with leaden feet. Seemed as though there were a hundred storeys…He pushed the door. This was Neal’s room…light, neat - too neat. It still smelled of him: faint smell of paints, aftershave or something…a Neal-mixture that tugged at Peter’s heart-strings. Peter just wished he could once again take the smaller frame in his arms and hug him. He had never hugged him enough. But he remembered with powerful tactile memory the muscular shoulders under the cloth, the hands on his back, the delight on Neal’s face whenever he did. The slight surprise that shouldn’t have accompanied that delight, but did.

 

_I should be over this by now. He’s gone. I wish I could get him back. I would if I could…if I could go where he’s gone, drag him back in cuffs if necessary…Peter smiled a little._

_It’s been what – six months?_

When El got home from visiting the doctor, he was in their kitchen, just finishing the dinner for her. Didn’t want her to see that he had been moping. But she saw, anyway. He wasn’t an expert at keeping secrets from El!

 

“Hon, he made his choices. He always knew what he wanted. He wanted his freedom. We all tried. Nothing we can do, now. There is nothing more we can do!”

 

“I know, El, but perhaps I didn’t let him see all the choices, through all the years.”

 

“Intellectually bright, emotionally…lacking.”

 

“Me, or Neal?” Peter asked, his small smile sad.

 

“Oh, both, a little. You tried, Peter.”

 

“Not enough, obviously.”

 

They ate. They watched TV, because when watching he could escape, somewhat. How was El so strong? Not that she didn’t love Neal as much, obviously she did and she had always showed it more, showed acceptance more. She had faith. In people, in outcomes, in a way he didn’t understand.

 

 

 

El had gone up to shower and Peter’s cell rang. He fished for it, surprised. They didn’t usually bother him at home afterhours, now, unless the case was politically sensitive, or something really interesting. His pulse picked up a bit.

 

“Burke,” he said, without checking the incoming number.

 

“Peter, I’ve got him.”

 

Peter very nearly fell over. His knees felt weak. He sat without looking behind him, swallowing. Trying to speak. There was a buzzing in his ears.

 

“Peter?”

 

“Neal?” he managed.

 

“Yeah, sorry to just ring like this. Didn’t mean to. Shouldn’t, to be honest!”

 

“B-but you’re – well, you aren’t, obviously.” There was a white-hot rage uncoiling in Peter’s stomach, at odd variance with the simultaneous joy that seemed to be singing in his ears.

 

“Um – can you keep that entirely to yourself, please? Well – tell Elizabeth, but both of you, _please?”_

 

“You let us think…!”

 

“Yeah, sorry about that. Had to get away and keep you safe – you do realise the risks of me calling you, for all of us? Even now? Perhaps especially now.”

 

Peter sat quiet a moment, and realised everything. Everything. Part of him was applauding his ingenious and detail-oriented friend. “Yeah. The remnants of the Pink Panthers got released. I understand. But they’re older, now…perhaps wiser?”

 

“Let us hope they’ve changed, but none of us want to take risks. Can’t take risks. Look, I have to cut this short - ”

 

“Yeah, I get it. Thank you. So good to hear your voice…” Peter felt his throat close, wanting so much to talk to his friend, to have him here – especially now. Not wanting to say good-bye…even if this time he _could!_

 

“Peter, I’ve – well, we’ve got him. You don’t have to worry.

         “Did you _hear_ what I said?”

 

_That’s what he said at first._

 

“What do you mean – you’ve got – **_what?_** ”

 

“Your son. Neal – remember him? And by the way, I’m not. I’m Simon. Probably not for long, after this phone call. Burning aliases as we speak.”

 

“But - ”

 

“Birthday cards, anniversary presents, remember? I still keep tabs, Burke! From the Great Other Side!”

 

“Ne – Simon! Oh, _thank you!_ How – where is he? Is he all right?”

 

“He’s fine. Gone out to get some …food.” Peter heard the careful choice of words. Not that ‘Simon’ didn’t trust him, but just in case…so smart. Simon went on, “A little surprised, he was, to meet his namesake, seems he thought he was named after an astronaut?” Neal’s laughter flooded down the phone and Peter couldn’t suppress a grin.

 

“You try telling your child that his name comes from his father’s bête noir, a criminal so devious and brilliant that he took his father from his mother so often for so many years that his father had to catch him in order to be at home long enough to consider having a child of their own?”

 

“Aaaw…rather than the delinquent adopted child who just took after your wife in looks and smarts? 'S'that what you mean?”

 

Peter imagined the soft, fond expression on his ex-CI’s face.

 

“Yeah – rather than that one! How did you – how did you _find_ him – Neal. My son, Neal.”

 

“Um…you were rather heavy handed with him, from the sound of it, Peter. You need to lighten up! I explained how protective you are, he is beginning to realise that being out in the big wide world isn’t the pleasant, fun thing he thought it would be. At least when he’s alone. We told him you’d seen too much danger in your line of work to take his safety lightly.”

 

“But he’s all right?”

 

“He’s fine. Now. If we could have, we’d have just kept an eye on him, let him come to the understanding on his own, but he was getting into some nasty company. So we …extracted him. But _he_ took after his mother, in smarts and looks, luckily! He knows it wasn’t going well, he just didn’t know how to get out.”

 

“He – he wants to paint all the time, Neal. I got – got scared! Sorry! Simon.”

 

“He isn’t me. We don’t even share a name, now! I never had a father, much, remember. No-one called home and let anyone know _I_ was okay, because there was no-one at home that cared that much. And no-one caught me out of some of the bad stuff I wandered into…it was up to me. Before…my other friend, you know the one.”

 

“Ellen…?”

 

“Even Ellen. She tried her best to fill the gaps, and she was fond of me. She wasn’t my mother, or my aunt. She was sorry for me. Felt some misguided responsibility.”

 

“So now?”

 

“You can stop worrying. Both of you. I won’t teach him to forge Raphael’s, or Picasso’s or anything – and neither will the other guy. We’ll keep him safe and let him try and survive on his art alone. Then, when he’s over this little phase, we’ll send him home.

         “He – he just needed some space, Peter. Truly.”

 

“Who does he think you two are?”

 

“Interpol.”

 

_“What?”_

 

“Actually, some ex-Interpol agents, friends of yours from back in the day when you were chasing some brilliant art forger across Europe….you probably remember… I can’t recall his name….”

 

Again, the bright, thousand-watt grin across the empty miles between them.

 

“Yeah – that’s because he had so many! I can hardly remember _him_ at all!”

         Peter then said ruefully, “I should have hugged you more often. Should have hugged _him_ more often.”

 

“Yeah. One of those things you can do, not too distant future, I think. And don’t forget from now on!”

 

“Should I come - ?”

 

“Peter, let him be. Let him come back to you. Did you ever chase Satchmo in the park? Did you ever get him that way?” Simon’s voice changed. “Guess Satch’s is long gone, _now.”_

 

“Yeah – thanks for that! I thought my friend I chased was looking after him! Now…?”

 

Simon chuckled. “I believe there’re lots of angels. Sure one of them has taken him for walkies and he’s probably watching over you and yours. Lot of strange coincidences helped us find …him…for you.

         “I should go…”

 

 _“No!”_ Peter couldn’t help himself.

 

That fond smile in his voice again, “Peeter! They’ll be back soon. As it is we told him some baddies _we_ had put away might be on our trail, have to leave.”

 

“That’s exactly true, when you think about it. If they are. They aren’t the same men, Simon. They aren’t fighting fit, the last of that gang.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Any chance, someday…?”

 

“Let’s see about that remnant. But your son has an artistic streak a mile wide…shoulda named him after the astronaut, but _then_ how would you have kept an eye on him, huh, Burke, in space?

         “But it might be nice if you and El could bring him to see…I don’t know, the Louvre, the fountains of Rome, Uffizi - ”

 

“But how will you…oh. Sorry.”

 

“Birthday cards, Burke! Look, have to go.”

 

“Simon – thank you! Thank you, _thank you!_ Both of you. If you can, if the opportunity presents itself, tell him we love him…as much as I loved a brilliant, devious criminal…”

 

There was a silence that Peter imagined was startled. “Well, well, Burke, going soft?”

 

“Yes. Must be, Simon! Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

 

“Hmph. Tell Elizabeth hi from over here.”

 

“Over here! You’re probably in the Bronx!”

 

“Could be!” Simon chuckled and Peter could hear voices approaching in the background of the call. He strained to hear his son, but Simon said, “Thank you so much. We’ll let you know.” And hung up.

Peter clutched the phone for a good ten minutes, as though to hold onto his friend, his son…

 

 

A few minutes after he had managed to put the thing down, Peter stood at the bathroom door and said, “He’s all right, El.”

 

She turned as he screwed up his face against sudden, burning tears and she enveloped him in a hug of joy. Enough time to fill her in on the details later.

 

 

 

The End


End file.
